And from the tomb he did reply:
Tho, few have fought as well as I,
Mortal flesh anon, must die:
From the depth of skin and bone
Unshaken still, did he intone:
My charges were unloved and lone
And I, destined from the start
To know the grief that storms the heart
of the forsaken and to impart
to them the surging strength of me.
Mightier than the charging sea,
Attuned to all that he, especially unto thee
Who suffers much to walk with me.
Dream ye not of streets of gold.
Nor an end to pain,
Often in our forever, we will walk
this way again.
The tall pine opened an aging eye and
trembled its brittle cones
Then it fell full length, it did
Athwart the tune of Jones.
Jim Jones 10/11/69
Perhaps there is hope for Life someday – but not for our lives.
Perhaps there is hope for Happiness somewhere – but not for us.
No expectations… only the acceptance of the Void –
the profound, inexpressible void:
that all-encompassing abyss which demands from us
that we function according to Duty.
Who is keeping score in this absurd game? Will it never end?
And who makes the rules?
For if we had wanted to ‘win’ – we would have already lost – pitifully so.
But I wonder – when it is all tallied.
When it is asked:
“Which wars did you choose?”
“Which battles did you wage?”
Who could answer better than we?
For did we not have a high road to travel and the way made clear?
Did we not find comradery [camaraderie] of spirits never before encountered…
Unity of Purpose binding us together.
What greater heights that we have reached?
Did we not see life… and prefer death?
Is there not some Victory in the choice of Reality?
What you see?
Nothing worth saving!
(except for the children)
so many soul-less beings,
whose real substance
has long been abandoned in the struggle.
Poor when the load grew heavy,
it was quickly lay down in exchange for all-pervading apathy…
now they are the walking dead.
There is no pain left…
except for the children.
Gentle, wistful spirits–
knowledgeable of the secrets
in a foreign world–
the children bear the scars of their parents battles.
There is no hope at all…
except for the children.
I would offer you something – but everything I have
is either borrowed or stolen.
Stolen from the bulk of Humanity which contain
nothing as its own.
The faintest smile; the slightest moment of respite…
belongs to others.
The despair of the millions: the agony of those
death claims slowly…
is no less mine.
The – Debt – Is – So – Great.
Nothing is transferable…
Where then in this barren womb is the renewal?
What is there of nourishment for the ‘intangible’?
but the undying
in familiar, trusted eyes.
Unqualified commitment is the only Redemption.
In silent majesty
as a tribute
to whatever is the sacred
if only it was
to see the Divinity
in the liter [litter]
along the sidewalk.
What was that?
Who is it?
Oh, maybe it’s nothing.
Is someone there?
As you grow bolder and more careless – those forces you
have wrong grow keener–
Do not think that we have forgotten!
Our memories are sharp with the pain and suffering you have caused.
How vividly we recall the emptiness of the post that you deserted!
The breathe [breath] of those whose lives you sold cheaply fills
our lungs– even as they lie dying.
We are not discouraged.
We are biding our time.
We know who you are.
But you do not know us… for everyday [every day] our side increases
its strength, 10 fold… 100 fold.
The forces of the People grow!
Who shall win in this life and death struggle?
Can you not see the ‘writing on the wall’?
And very soon– there will be no wall standing.
You can run and hide TRAITOR–
but it will not help.
The Hounds of the People shall sniff you out!
And even the most merciful will turn away from you…
as Justice prevails!